The Old Man
by PoppyPapillon
Summary: One thing was certain. I had to find Eames.
1. Chapter 1

"Mr. Goren? Can you hear me?"

The light was strange in the room; that was the first thing that struck me even through my closed eyelids.

"Sir?"

I blinked, slowly. Fluorescent lights, beeping monitors, starched blanket. Hospital.

A white-coated doctor beamed down at me. "Gave us a bit of a scare there, Sir. How are you feeling?"

"What am I doing here?"

"You were in a car accident, Mr. Goren. Drunk driver hit you head-on."

"Ugh. Captain's gonna be pissed." I flexed my limbs slowly. They were sore, but nothing seemed broken. "How's my partner?"

"Your partner? Sorry, sir, I don't know anything about that... let me examine you first, and then I'll find out for you." He leaned forward, shining a light into my eyes. "Any pain in your head?"

"I want to see Alex," I told him, my heart starting to pound. "Where's Alex?"

"Waiting outside in the hall," he said.

"Really?"

"Really. Now, you took a pretty big blow to the head, so I do need to assess your injury before I let you have any visitors."

I calmed down a little. Eames was just outside the door, probably waiting to mock me about my little hospital gown. I'd have to remember to rearrange it before she came in. Give her a nice view.

"My head does hurt a little, yeah."

"Any memory problems?"

"Not that I can recall," I smirked.

The doctor chuckled. "Got a wise guy here, eh? Tell me, who's the president?"

"Obama."

He nodded. "Good. What day is it?"

"Uh… well, my birthday's in a week, so it's August 13th."

He pursed his lips. "Hmm."

"Hmm?"

"Bit closer to your birthday, Mr. Goren. It's the 16th."

I blinked. "Really?"

"I wouldn't worry too much about it. Believe it or not, it's not uncommon for a patient with a head trauma to lose a couple of days. How bad is the pain?"

"Not too bad."

The doctor went through a series of tests, checking my reflexes and reactions. "Mild concussion," he said. "Nothing too serious. I'm Dr. Berry, by the way."

"Nice to meet you. Can I see Alex now?"

He smiled sympathetically, stepping toward the door. "Sure. I'll send him in."

I frowned. "What?"

A tall, broad-shouldered guy hurried into the room as soon as he saw the doctor come out. "Dad?"

"Uh–"

"Thank God you're okay." He reached my side and took my hand shakily. "You're really okay, right?"

"Uh–"

"Donna's on her way, she's stuck in traffic on the Major Deegan."

"Donna?"

"I told her not to drive, she's so upset–"

"I'm sorry," I interrupted. "But who are you?"

He gaped at me. "It's me, Dad. Alex."

I stared at him, and he stared at me, and then he was out the door, hollering for a doctor. Within seconds, he was back, Dr. Berry trailing close behind. "Mr. Goren, Alex here says you don't recognize him."

"There's some sort of mistake," I said, panic starting to mount. "I mean, Jesus, I don't have a kid."

"You have two," Alex said stubbornly. "Me and Donna."

"I'm not your father, man. What are you, twenty? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-two," he said.

"Well that settles it," I said firmly. "Twenty-two years ago I was serving in the Army overseas, and definitely not having any sex. This guy's got a screw loose, doc."

Alex looked at me blankly. "You served in the Army in the late eighties, Dad."

"Right, that's what I'm saying."

He paused. "What year do you think it is?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's 2009, buddy, I'm not an idiot."

He spun around to face the doctor, furious. "You said he lost a few _days_!"

"He told me it was August 13th," Dr. Berry protested. "He knew Obama was president."

"Thank God for that," I groaned. "Bush was a train wreck."

Alex swore softly, looking up at the fluorescent lights overhead. "Barack Obama isn't president, Dad. Malia Obama is president."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Malia? That kid is what, eleven?"

"She's thirty-six. Youngest president in history, and only the third female president."

"Wait." I swallowed, hard. "Wait."

"It's 2035."

I laughed involuntarily. "It is not." I turned to look at the doctor, who was as solemn-faced as Alex. "Doc?" I looked down at my hands, saw the age spots. Touched my face, felt the wrinkles. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Look, let's stay calm," said Dr. Berry, who looked anything but calm himself. "Retrograde amnesia after a head trauma is not uncommon. Usually the memories come back within a few days."

Alex sank into a chair. "Donna's going to flip out."

"Who's Donna?" I managed to ask.

"My sister," he said. "Your daughter."

"Oh." Twenty-six years? I'd really lost _twenty-six years_? "Are, um... are there any more?"

"No."

"Okay." I rubbed my face with shaky palms. "Okay. Um..."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Alex asked suddenly. "Maybe if we take your mind back there, you'll start remembering what happened afterwards."

Dr. Berry shook his head. "Your father needs to rest right now. His brain has had enough trauma today–"

"I remember it was hot," I interrupted. "I remember the Yankees had just swept the Red Sox."

"Anything else?"

I searched through my memory. "We were working the murders of three schoolteachers. The case was bothering Eames. She didn't want to talk about why."

"Eames?"

"Yeah." It dawned on me as I looked at him. "You don't know who Alex Eames is?"

He shook his head. "You worked with her?"

I took a shaky breath. On some level, I had assumed that if I'd had kids, it had been with Eames. "Yeah. We were partners for years."

"You've never mentioned her."

That was odd. "Who did I... I mean, who's your mother?"

He looked down, rubbed at his knees with his palms. "Sandy Goren. Sandy Ford was her maiden name."

"I don't–"

"You hadn't met her yet in 2009."

"Oh. Where..."

"She, um... she died." He still wasn't looking at me, and I noticed his eyes had filled with tears.

"When?"

"Three months ago."

"I'm sorry," I said kindly. "I lost my mom not too long ago. It's tough."

"Yeah."

"Listen," Dr. Berry spoke up. "You should really get some rest, Mr. Goren."

"Call me Bobby," I told him.

Alex furrowed his brow. "You hate being called Bobby."

"What?"

"You never let anyone call you that. You've always gone by Rob."

"I've never–"

"I'll stick with 'Mr. Goren' for now," Dr. Berry interjected. "Nurses will be in to check on you periodically, but for now, try to get some sleep." He gave Alex a pointed look, until he stood up, too. I noticed for the first time that Alex had my eyes, my chin.

My son. My son?

"I'll be right outside, Dad," he said. "Donna will be here soon. Don't worry about a thing, we'll straighten this all out."

"Sure," I said, giving him my most convincing smile.

They left the room together, and my smile faded. I looked at my hands again, saw the white hairs on my arms. With minimal wincing, I got out of bed, hobbling over to the bathroom. There was a mirror over the sink, and there I saw it. The face of a seventy-four-year-old man. I frowned, and he frowned back. I inspected my receding hairline, all gray now, with skin bruised from the crash. There were too many wrinkles to count.

Seventy-four. And here I used to think _fifty_ was old.

I padded back to the bed, noticing the ache in my back and knees. Was the pain from the accident, or was this just another byproduct of old age? Gingerly, I climbed back into bed.

One thing was certain.

I had to find Eames.


	2. Chapter 2

When I awoke, there was someone sitting in the chair next to my bed. She was working on a crossword puzzle, and tapping her foot with nervous energy.

"Donna?" I guessed.

The crossword ended up somewhere on the floor as she sprang to her feet. "You remember?"

I shook my head apologetically. "No, I... you look like your brother." She did, too. Tall and wide-shouldered, with dark hair. Her wistful expression reminded me of someone else, but I couldn't put my finger on it. "Major Deegan's been giving you some trouble, I hear."

"Yeah." She touched my shoulder gingerly. "How're you feeling?"

"Just fine, thanks."

"You want some water?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Okay." Her eyes darted around nervously. "I, um... this is weird."

"It is weird," I agreed.

"I mean, you're my _dad_. You've known me my whole life."

There was something distinctly endearing about this girl. I had no memories of her, but I couldn't help the swell of paternal protectiveness that came over me when I looked at her. "Hopefully everything will come back to me soon," I offered.

Donna nodded, and sat back down. "Alex went down to the cafeteria to get some coffee. He'll be back soon."

"That's fine." I couldn't stop looking at her. I'd helped create two human beings. They seemed well-adjusted, and that alone was a huge feat – and more than I'd thought possible from myself. "So, tell me... what sorts of things have I missed?"

She smiled nervously. "I don't know where to start."

"2009 or so, I guess."

"Right, right. Well, you met Mom a couple of years later. You guys went out for a year and a half before you got married, and you had Alex a year later. You lived in Brooklyn for a while, and then after I was born you moved north to the Bronx."

"On purpose?"

She laughed. "Grandma lived out there – Mom's mom – and she needed someone to take care of her. You and Mom didn't want to put her in a nursing home, so we all moved into her house. It's pretty big. You said it was a good idea to get away from the city anyway."

That didn't sound like me, but what did I know about me? "Do we still live there?"

"Yup. Grandma died in '20, and she left us the house."

"And your mom?" I asked tentatively.

"She, um... she died in May. Heart attack."

"Can you tell me about her? If it doesn't upset you, I mean. I don't remember her."

"She was very meticulous. Everything in our house was always spotless, nothing was out of place. She..." Donna paused, then sighed. "You might be better off asking Alex. He was always closer with her than I was. I kind of grew up as a daddy's girl."

I smiled. "And you?"

"Me?"

"Tell me about you."

"Oh. Well, I'm nineteen, I'm going into my sophomore year at Columbia."

"Columbia? That's great."

"Yeah, you were really excited when I decided to go there. Mom used to laugh and say it was just because you wanted me close to home, but I knew you were proud of me."

"What are you studying?"

"Journalism."

"You live on campus?"

"Um... no." She looked down. "I mean, I did, but I decided to move back home after Mom died."

"Oh."

"I just worry about you, Dad. It makes me feel better to know you have someone looking after you."

"But you should be experiencing college, not caring for an old man."

"We've had this argument before," she said.

"I haven't."

"You got me there." Her expression grew pensive, and suddenly I had it.

"Donny!"

"Donna," she corrected me.

"No, I mean, I was trying to think of who you look like, and it's Donny."

"Who's Donny?"

"My nephew," I said. "Your cousin, I guess."

Donna cocked her head. "How do you have a nephew? You were an only child."

"No I wasn't."

"You always told Alex and me that we were lucky we had each other, that you'd grown up without any siblings."

"I don't know why I would have said that. I had a brother. We were three years apart, like you and Alex."

She gaped at me. "Why would you have lied to us?"

"I don't know. I have a niece, too."

"Hold up a second." Holding one hand in the air, Donna blinked rapidly. "This is... I can't process all this right now."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

We sat in silence for several minutes, until Alex entered the room, two styrofoam cups of coffee in his hands. "Hey," he said, grinning widely. "Looks like somebody's finally woken up. Donna arrived right after you fell asleep, she's been sitting there for hours."

"I didn't mind," she said, accepting one of the cups of coffee gratefully. "Just glad Dad's going to be all right."

"I called work, told them I had to take a personal day."

"Alex works at an architecture firm," Donna said to me.

"Yup. Luckily, Donna's on summer break for three more weeks, so you'll have someone to look after you while you get your memories back." He sat on the other side of me, smiling expectantly. "Anything coming back to you yet?"

"Not yet," I said.

"But get this," Donna said. "Dad just told me he had an older brother."

Alex gave me a pitying look. "You're just mixed up. It's probably just a side effect of the head trauma, like when you thought people called you Bobby."

"People do call me Bobby. And my older brother was named Frank. Look it up in public records."

He nodded, looking unconvinced. "Frank, right. You know, Donna had an imaginary friend growing up–"

"Oh, I knew you were going to go there," Donna said, annoyed. "You always do."

"For, like, five years," Alex continued, his eyes dancing merrily. "She called her _Alex 2_. Mom used to say it was probably because I didn't spend enough time with her, so she made up a sister so she could entertain herself."

"You had an imaginary friend?" I asked, worry beginning to gnaw at my gut.

"I don't have schizophrenia," she said quickly, seemingly reading my thoughts. "I promise. You told me about your mom's condition, and had me tested. _Many _times. It wasn't a big deal, Dad, a lot of kids make up imaginary friends."

"Can't be too careful, though," I said. "With our family history."

"It wasn't a constant thing, either. I would just see her every once in a while. But she was invisible to everyone else. It went away by the time I was nine or ten." She arched a brow. "And you were the one who said schizophrenia normally presents in late adolescence."

"It does, that's true." I made a mental note to have her tested again, though.

"Listen," Alex interjected. "I ran into Dr. Berry in the cafeteria, and asked him when he thought Dad would be ready to be released. He said as long as someone is there to keep an eye on him, he could go home as early as tomorrow. Isn't that good news?"

"That's great," Donna said. "Once we get you back to the house, and you see the old neighborhood and all your photos and stuff, I bet it'll all coming rushing back to you."

"I hope so." I looked over at Alex. "Are there any hospital forms for me to fill out?"

"Nope, I've finished them."

"You knew all my insurance information?"

He gave me a blank look. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I remember learning about this in social studies class," Donna supplied. "Insurance in this country used to be privatized. There were, like, hundreds of insurance companies, and you'd get matched to whatever company your employer used."

"That's stupid. What if your employer chose a bad company?"

"Then you had crappy insurance," I said.

"Oh. Well, it's all done through one government-run company now. Very neat and streamlined. The hospital forms only took a minute or so to fill out." He glanced at his watch. "I'm just going to make a quick phone call, Dad. I'll be back soon."

"Take your time," I told him. "I'm fine here."

He pressed a little button on his watch, said "Dial boss" loudly, and strode out the door.

"I feel like I just fell out of a time machine," I grumbled. "So do cars fly now?"

Donna laughed. "Of course not. I mean, imagine if a car's battery died midair... it could flatten a building."

I'd never thought of it that way.

We smiled at each other again. I could tell from her expression that she was, indeed, a daddy's girl.

"So, Donna... you're studying journalism, right?"

"Right."

"They teach you how to do research?"

"Sure, of course. You need me to find something?"

"No." I leaned forward. "I need you to find someone."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to Medea Callous for pushing me to continue! Sorry about the delay - I'll try to update more regularly, but school has been tough this semester! _

* * *

Donna drove me home from the hospital. She talked the whole time – a nervous stream of chatter that required little response from me, so I focused on the view outside. It was like seeing an alternate version of reality. New York City, only not. Greener and sleeker, with grassy strips between tall, sleek buildings. Small electric cars wove in and out of traffic, taking exits I'd never seen before.

"Isn't it, Dad?"

I blinked and turned to look at Donna. "Hmm?"

"I said, isn't it nice to be out of the hospital?"

"Oh. Yup, sure is."

She smiled, slipping on a pair of sunglasses as we headed toward Brooklyn. The neighborhood where they lived – where _we _lived – looked a bit more normal, like where I'd grown up. Older houses with little driveways. Donna pulled into one, putting the car in park and looking at me hopefully.

I shrugged in response. "Nothing's ringing a bell yet."

"It's okay," she assured me, helping me unbuckle my seatbelt. "Let's get you inside, so you can relax for a bit."

The inside of the house, too, was unfamiliar. There was little doubt that I had lived there – I recognized several pieces of my furniture, now looking old and worn. And there were photos of me, too, smiling down from the walls with my wife and children.

"That's Mom," Donna said, pointing at one framed picture. "Wasn't she pretty?"

"Yes." The woman was tall, with short brown hair and glasses. "Alex said her name was Sandy?"

"Yeah." She pointed to another photo. "This was at my high school graduation last year."

The four of us were grouped together in the picture, my arm slung around Donna, Alex's arm around Sandy. Once I got past how old I looked, I thought we made quite a nice-looking family. Sandy, I noticed, looked healthy.

"Your mom died of a heart attack?"

"Yeah. It was pretty sudden." Donna rubbed my back, as if to comfort me over a grief I didn't feel. "You want anything to drink? Maybe some hot tea?"

"Sure, that'd be great."

I followed her into the kitchen, where I lowered myself gingerly into a chair as she filled a tea kettle and set it on a burner. My back was sore, and my knees felt like crap. Arthritis, according to the doctor.

"Alex will be here soon," she said, grabbing two mugs from a cabinet.

For a moment I thought she'd meant Eames. "Hey," I said, "I know it's been a crazy few days, but did you happen to get a chance to search for that old partner of mine? Alex Eames?"

"I did," she said. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I went through newspaper records for the past twenty years, there was no mention of an Eames in New York City."

"She might not have made the papers... what about the white pages?"

Donna squinted. "White pages?"

"You know. Where you look up people's phone numbers."

"Oh. America hasn't had those in ages. You know, the Privacy Act and all." She stopped. "Oh. Right. You don't know. There was a law put into place in 2015. It beefed up national security by making people-searching really limited."

I sighed. "Okay, well, what about NYPD?"

"Tried that. They don't release former officers' information, and nobody there even remembers her."

"What about Ross?"

"Ross?"

"Sure, Danny Ross. Hell, he was a captain there, someone has to still have his info. I can make the call, they might release it to a retired cop–" I looked up at Donna and stopped. She looked stricken. "What's wrong?"

"I, um..." She chewed on her lip. "Dad, Danny Ross died a long time ago."

I felt my jaw drop. "What?"

She crossed the kitchen quickly to sit beside me, taking my hand in hers. "He was shot in the line of duty. His funeral is one of the first memories I have, actually. I was, I don't know, four or five? Little, anyway."

Shakily, I breathed in and out. "Dead. Jesus."

"I'm sorry, Dad."

I swallowed, my heart beating fast. It was a possibility that had occurred to me already – that perhaps people I'd known had died. But Ross? He should have been sitting in a recliner somewhere in Jersey, with grandkids climbing all over him. Not rotting in a grave. I tried not to think about Eames, and what it meant that nobody remembered her at the station.

"I shouldn't have told you," Donna said, squeezing my hand. "This is too much for you to hear right now."

I shook my head. "It's okay, Doodle, you didn't mean any harm."

Her face brightened incredulously. "What did you say?"

"What?"

"You called me Doodle!" She laughed, clapping her hands over her mouth. "Dad, you're remembering!"

"I... what?"

"You called me and Alex your Doodles all the time when we were little. It's coming back to you!" She reached over and hugged me quickly, then jumped up with renewed energy to retrieve the whistling tea kettle.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that my mom had called Frank and me her Doodles.

Alex came home later, after I'd taken a nap in my old armchair. He looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him, as he clapped me on the shoulder and asked how I was feeling. I watched him move around the kitchen, teasing Donna and ducking from her irritated swat. He'd seemed more uptight when I was in the hospital – but then, I reasoned, he'd also buried his mother three months ago. Visiting me in the hospital couldn't have been easy on either of the kids.

"I'm making your favorite," Donna called over to me. "Chicken pot pie."

"Sounds great."

Alex plopped down into a chair across from me. "So, anything in the house look familiar?"

"Just my old stuff," I said apologetically.

He nodded. "So the last thing you remember, it was summer of '09."

"Yup."

"And you were part of the Major Case Squad."

"Right."

"Was there anything big that happened then? Something traumatizing, maybe?"

I thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Nothing more than normal. I mean, the job's not exactly cheerful."

"I just keep wondering why you went back to that time, that's all. And you said your partner was a woman?"

"Alex Eames."

"How long did you two work together?"

I cocked my head. "Well, I can't say how long we were partnered in total, but as of 2009 it had been about ten years."

"Did you get along with her?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she was probably my best friend."

He looked amazed. "I feel like I'm learning this whole new side to you, Dad. Here I thought I knew you, and now I'm hearing about this partner of yours, and these relatives I didn't know we had, and... I mean, god, you say you were called _Bobby _back then."

"People really call me Rob now?"

"Yeah."

Donna slid the pot pies into the oven, then joined us at the table. "So tell us about your brother."

"Frank? He... I don't even know where to begin."

"Were you close?"

"Not really. He was... troubled."

"Like Grandma?"

I nodded. "He had problems with gambling and drugs, too."

"And he died?"

The image of his body flashed in my memory. "Yes."

"That's awful." Donna sighed. "And his son? Donny?"

I shook my head, and they didn't push further.

"It's too bad you were never one to keep journals," Alex said finally. "Might fill in some gaps for you."

"I'm too suspicious for journals," I smirked. "Always worried what would happen if someone found it."

Donna sat up straight. "What about the box?"

Alex laughed. "Oh man, not the box again."

"What box?"

"Oh, you have this box in your closet," he explained, his eyes dancing. "You told us we weren't allowed to open it–"

"So of course that's all we ever wanted to do," Donna finished.

"So? What's in it?" I asked.

Alex shrugged. "No idea, we were never able to crack the password."

Donna smiled at us mischievously. "Dad might be able to."

I looked back and forth between them, trying not to laugh as they schemed. If there were a locked box in my room, it was probably a gun, but there was always the chance that it contained something more.

"What do you say, Dad?" Alex asked. "Want to give it a try?"

It only took a second to ponder. I didn't have any secrets worth hiding, and I didn't have any particular interest in helping Rob Goren hide his.

"Let's do it."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Dedicated to Gypsy5, for still being interested. More to come!_

* * *

We entered my bedroom together, the three of us. I stopped to take in my surroundings as the kids darted past me, heading for the closet. The walls were a horrible lime green, and the bedspread had a big, tropical floral print on it. I shook my head. Clearly, my late wife had been the decorator in our relationship.

"Here we go," Alex said, lifting a locked box out of the top shelf. He blew on it, and dust flew right into Donna's face.

She wrinkled her nose in exasperation. "Let's do this already. The suspense is killing me."

Alex set the box down on the bed, and he and Donna sat on either side of it. "Come sit down, Dad," he coaxed. "You're supposed to be resting, after all."

I settled down between them, running one hand over the surface of the box. It wasn't the sort of lockbox I normally kept my guns in – but then, I'd never had kids before.

"Ooh, I forgot about the list!" Donna jumped to her feet, running out of the room as I looked on blankly.

"List?"

"We kept a list of all the combinations we tried," Alex explained, a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh. Well, that's good thinking."

"Got it!" Donna came back in, leaping onto the bed. "We covered the obvious ones already, Dad. Your birthday, Mom's birthday, our birthdays, our phone number, our street number–"

"Okay," I interrupted. "For starters, how many digits are in the combination?"

"That's what makes it tough," Alex said. "It's a Myriad."

"A what?"

"Myriad boxes are high-security safes. They're specifically designed to have passwords as short as one digit, and as long as one hundred. Makes them really hard to crack."

I frowned. Maybe this wouldn't be as easy as I expected.

"Well, here goes nothing," I said. I entered my old standby password, 5318008. It didn't work. Then it was onto my badge number, 4376. No dice. I tried my Social Security number, old phone numbers, old bank accounts, old credit card numbers.

"Don't worry about it, Dad," Donna said after a while. "I mean, It could be a number that doesn't have any significance to you now. Something that happened during the time you don't remember."

On a whim, I tried the last date I did remember – 8-13-09. Still, nothing. A vision of Eames' face that day, the day we found the third schoolteacher victim, flashed in my memory. Cocking my head, I tried 3798, Eames' badge number. No luck.

"Dad?"

It felt off, living in a world without Eames. I wondered if Rob Goren felt like this when his wife died.

"Do either of you have a calculator handy?"

The kids looked at each other. "Uh, sure," Alex said. "I can do it on my phone."

"Enter in 4376," I told him, "and take away 3798."

He punched in the numbers quickly. "578."

I entered the numbers, and the combination lock clicked open.

Donna let out a squeal of excitement. "You did it, Dad!"

"I guess I did."

"So open it already!"

Alex and I raised the heavy lid together. Inside was a mess of papers, photographs, letters, newspaper clippings...

"Holy cow," Donna breathed, looking over my shoulder. "What is all this stuff?"

I shrugged. "Let's see." We moved back on the bed so that I could rest against the headboard. Then, I started pulling the items out, one by one. "This is a picture of your grandmother," I said, pulling out an aged photograph. "Her name was Frances."

"She looks so tiny," Alex said.

"She was."

"And she gave birth to you? How'd that happen?"

I smirked. "Wiseass." There were more pictures of Mom in the pile, some with my brother and me in them, too. "Here we are at one of the amusement parks on Coney Island. I was around three, and Frank was six or so. He kept trying to get Mom to let him on the Cyclone ride, but he wasn't tall enough to go on it. See how pissed he looks?" I chuckled at the memory.

"Your mom looks so happy there." Alex said. "She's not how I imagined her."

"Yeah. She had her good moments, especially when I was little. Even later, when she was so unhappy, I knew it wasn't really her. It was the illness." I paused, looking over at Donna. "You know I'd still like to get you tested, kiddo."

"Oh, for pete's sake." She glared at Alex. "I _told _you he was freaked out."

"I'm not freaked out," I protested. "But this whole 'Alex 2' hallucination you kept seeing–"

"Imaginary friends are normal," Donna said firmly. "You took me to three different specialists, and they all told you the same thing. Four-year-olds have active imaginations. And like I said before, by the time I hit puberty they were gone."

"Who's this?" Alex said, reaching past me into the box. I gave Donna a lingering stern look, but she was busy looking at the paper in her brother's hand. It was a newspaper clipping, and from the looks of it, it wasn't very old. "Detective Awarded Commendation for Bravery," Alex read aloud. "Hey, wasn't your old partner named Eames?

"Did you say Eames?" I took the clipping from his hand eagerly, but to my disappointment, the photo was of a young man. He was short and slight, a familiar wry grin on his face as he shook the mayor's hand and posed for the camera.

There was no doubt in my mind; this was Alex Eames' son.

"Bobby Eames-Wilson," Donna read. "I wonder if she named him after you. That'd be nice of her."

"Yeah, I guess." I stared at the man's face sourly. Eames had been dating a guy named Josh Wilson, last I remembered. He was a little guy, too. Didn't deserve her.

I set the clipping aside in spite of my irritation. Eames' son was the best lead I had at finding her.

Alex sifted past a stack of envelopes and cards, evidently deeming them too personal to read. He plucked a photograph from underneath the pile. "Whoa, check this out," he said in surprise. "This kid looks just like you, Donna."

"That's Frank's son," I told them. "Your cousin Donny. Remember, I told you he looked like you?"

"I don't see it," Donna shrugged. "But then I don't think I look like Alex, either."

I snorted. "You've got to be kidding."

"I know, everyone says we look alike. I just don't see it."

"Most girls would kill to look like me," Alex said. "I have great bone structure."

"All right, children, don't make me separate you," I grumbled as they laughed. I picked up some of the stacks of letters, and noticed a few were written in Eames' distinct scrawl. Those, too, I set aside, frowning when I noticed there was no return address listed.

Donna laid a hand on my arm gently, and when I looked up, she was soberly holding out a program from a memorial service. "This is from Captain Ross' funeral," she said.

I took it from her, my hand trembling slightly. There was Ross' face, staring up at me from the cover.

"I remember that funeral," Alex said. "It was so confusing at the time. The procession started and I thought it was a parade or something. There were so many people there. And it was weird; most people weren't crying like they did at Mom's funeral. Everyone was just really quiet."

"They were probably numb; the funeral would've been held pretty much right after it happened," I told him. "The Jewish faith requires quick burial. Was he buried in his family plot out in Brooklyn?"

He nodded. "There was this big back-and-forth about it at the time, because his wife wasn't Jewish, and she was afraid she wouldn't be able to be buried next to him when he died."

"His wife?"

"Elizabeth," Donna supplied. "She used to tutor me in bio. I think she ended up converting to Judaism after he died. I mean, she must have, since she ended up buried next to him in that cemetery."

"Elizabeth? Wait, was it Elizabeth Rodgers?"

Both kids shrugged. "I don't remember hearing her maiden name," Donna said apologetically.

"It's okay." I blew out a long breath. Jesus, was _anyone _still alive?

"Look, here's some of you in your uniform." Donna pulled out two photos while Alex continued to root through the pile. "See how handsome you were, Dad?" She gave me a big, fake smile, and I knew she was trying to cheer me up.

"I was not handsome," I retorted. Alex was hunched over a picture, and I tried to get a glimpse at what he was studying so intently.

"Were too. You were dreamy," Donna teased.

"I certainly wasn't dreamy. What do you have there, Alex?"

He picked his head up, looking pale. "Nothing, Dad."

"What is that?" Donna asked.

"I said it's nothing."

I held out my hand silently, waiting. Alex's jaw set uncomfortably, until finally he handed me the photograph.

And there she was.

It was a candid shot from Ross' son's bar mitzvah. I remembered taking it. Eames was wearing a sleeveless brown dress, nothing spectacular, but there was the loveliest expression on her face when she looked over at me. I had to capture it.

"This was my partner," I told them.

"Ooh, let me see," Donna said, straining her neck. I moved the photo closer to her, and her face went slack.

"Donna?"

She didn't move. She just stared.

I frowned in concern. "What's wrong?"

And then she was up, faster than I imagined she could move, and running out the door.

Alex sighed. "Dad–"

"Wait, hold on a second. Donna!"

"Dad." His voice was quiet, but something in his tone made me pause.

"What?"

He pointed to the photograph. "This is her."

"Yeah, I told you, it's my partner–"

"No, Dad. I mean... this is the person Donna used to see when she was little. This is Alex 2."

"This is her?" I blinked in confusion, looking down at Eames' picture. Then, clarity struck. "Alex, how do you know what she looked like?"

His shoulders slumped. "Because," he said. "I saw her, too."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Scribere Est Agere informed me that the end is soon upon us, which pushed me to write faster. I hope to have this finished by the big March 30th episode. Fingers crossed!_

* * *

"You saw her? You saw Eames?"

Alex nodded.

I shook my head. "But, I mean... how?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "She came up to us... I'm not sure, maybe six times?"

"_Six times_? Starting when? Where?"

"Here." Alex picked up Ross' memorial program. "At his funeral. That's where we first saw her." He stared at the cover. "I remember we were all at the cemetery, and Donna was getting whiny, so Mom told me to take her for a walk. When we were a little ways away, we caught sight of this woman standing by a tree. So Donna being Donna, she had to run over and introduce herself."

"The woman wasn't near the graveside?"

"No, it was like she was watching from a distance. Anyway, I followed Donna, and by the time I reached them, she was saying to the woman, 'I'm Donna, and this is my brother Alex.' The woman looked at me and said 'Oh, my name is Alex, too.' But Donna misunderstood, and thought she said her name was-"

"Alex 2," I supplied, understanding dawning.

"Right. Anyway, I just sort of stood there while they talked, and after a while, I heard someone come up behind me. When I turned around, Mom was standing there with this weird look on her face. Donna looked over and saw her, and said, 'Mommy, this lady's name is Alex 2.' But Mom just smiled and said 'I don't see anyone.'"

Wincing, I closed my eyes. "Then what?"

"Then we went back to the funeral. And we didn't see her again till the tree-lighting."

"At Rockefeller Center?"

He nodded. "We go every year; it's a family tradition. And that year, we were standing in this big crowd of people, and Donna was up on your shoulders so she could see better, and all of a sudden she waved and yelled 'Hi, Alex 2.' When I looked over, the woman was standing across the way, watching us. I couldn't be sure because of the lights, but at the time I thought she was crying."

"Did I see her too?"

"I don't think so. I mean, it was packed with people, and Donna was yelling to everyone, so I don't think you were paying attention. After that, we saw her at the house a few times. Each time I acted like I couldn't see her."

"Eames was here? Inside the house?"

"No, she'd be walking outside and Donna would run up to talk to her. She would usually ask if you were around, but you weren't ever there when she came. And this one time, Donna was being annoying and I was in a bad mood, so when the woman – when Eames came, I went inside. And I told Mom, 'That lady we can't see is here.' And she went outside and made Donna come in."

"Did she say anything to Eames?"

Alex thought back. "Yeah, and I remember it didn't make sense to me. She said 'Never forget that two is better than one. He's staying here.' What did she mean by that?"

My heart sank. "I don't know," I lied. It was obvious enough to me: Sandy was telling Eames that I wouldn't leave the two kids, if all I got in return was Eames. I felt a twinge of sympathy for my late wife. Clearly she hadn't included herself in the list of things that would keep me with her. "Alex... you need to go apologize to your sister."

"Yeah." He heaved a sigh. "Yeah, okay." He got up and left the room, making his way down to Donna's room. I idly picked through the pile of papers, wondering yet again how I ever could have lost touch with Alex Eames.

"Get out!"

Donna's voice was furious, and I was on my feet in an instant. Old bones ached in protest as I hurried into the hallway.

"I'm trying to say I'm _sorry_," Alex bellowed, not sounding the least bit sorry.

"I thought I was _crazy. _You both said I was _crazy_, you asshole!"

"I was a kid," he protested. He was standing outside her closed door. "I was confused. Mom said it, and–"

"Oh great, more you and Mom versus me. We all know she loved you more–"

"Hey," I interrupted loudly. "I'm sure that's not true."

Alex shrugged one shoulder in concession. "No, it's true. She used to say that I was her kid and Donna was yours."

"That's terrible."

"Stop criticizing her," he burst out. "Both of you. She's not exactly here to defend herself!" He stomped past me and down the stairs, his face a stormcloud of emotions. I could hear the front door slam shut as he left.

I turned back to Donna's room, knocking lightly and opening the door. "Hey."

"Go away." She was huddled on her bed, clutching her knees to her chest. She looked like a little girl. "Mom didn't love me, Dad, and you can't change that."

I ran a hand over my thinning hair. Jesus, I was not equipped for this. Fatherhood had been thrust upon me, without any of the usual time to develop parenting skills. What did a father do in this sort of a situation? Hell, what did a father do at all? Finally I asked her, "What did I usually to do to make you feel better?"

She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "You, uh... I guess you usually made me monkey tea."

I blinked. "Monkey tea?"

Donna nodded. "I had this picture book when I was little, and the monkeys in it would drink monkey tea. So I asked you to make me monkey tea one day, and you had me help you, and we made up a recipe."

"Ah. So... what's in monkey tea?"

"It's jasmine tea with honey, two sugar cubes, a tablespoon of cream, and one mini-marshmallow."

"...Oh."

"It sounds gross, I know."

"It sounds _really_ gross."

She managed a smile. "I could use some, though."

"Sure. Coming right up."

I closed the door behind me and made my way downstairs, then set a pot of water on the stove to boil as I rummaged around for the different ingredients. It was clear that this was in fact a tradition – I found the jasmine teabags, honey, sugar cubes, and mini-marshmallows clustered together in the pantry. After preparing the tea, I set the full teacup on a saucer and walked upstairs carefully.

"Donna?"

There was no answer, so I pushed the door open. Donna was asleep, still curled in the fetal position. Torn as to whether it would be better to wake her or to let her sleep, I chose the latter. As I placed the cup and saucer on her nightstand, I heard a faint knock coming from the front door. I wondered if Alex had forgotten his key.

"Get some sleep, kiddo," I whispered, kissing Donna's forehead. She didn't stir.

Another knock sounded as I tiptoed down the stairs. When I made it to the front door and opened it, a pleasant-looking guy was standing there.

"Yes?" I asked.

He smiled at me congenially. "Is Donna here?"

"She's sleeping," I replied. There was something so familiar about his smile, but I couldn't put my finger on it. "Can I take a message?"

The man shifted. "My name's Bobby Eames-Wilson," he said. "The guys at the force told me Donna's been asking about my mother. I'd like to know why."


	6. Chapter 6

I felt a rush of glee. "Yes, of course, please come in."

He stepped into the house, looking around. "Nice place you've got."

"Thanks... can I get you anything? Water, juice?"

"Water would be great."

"Coming right up. With ice?" At his nod, I darted off into the kitchen, clunking some ice cubes into a tall glass and holding it under the water dispenser.

_Eames' son._ My hand was shaking, and it wasn't old age.

Okay, it wasn't _just _old age.

Glass in hand, I made my way back into the foyer, where Bobby Eames-Wilson was studying one of our family portraits intently. "This must be Donna," he said, pointing her out. "She's older than I expected."

"The guys at PD said she sounded young?" I asked, puzzled.

He just took the water, thanking me politely.

"Let's sit down in the living room," I suggested. "I think I'm probably the one you should be talking to. Donna was just calling on my behalf." I led him into the living room, and took a seat in my old armchair as he followed, stopping to look at more family pictures. "Why don't you have a seat?" I asked finally. His wandering wasn't making me nervous per se, but something about his demeanor was. He was clearly uncomfortable.

"Why are you asking about my mom?" Bobby asked, finally settling onto the couch across from me.

"I'm trying to find her."

"Why? Because your wife died?"

"No, I... I was in a car accident recently."

"Sorry to hear that."

"I sustained a serious trauma to my head, and according to my doctor, I'm suffering from something called retrograde amnesia."

He nodded, slowly. "So you lost some time?"

"More than some. I lost twenty-six years."

"Wow." He sounded dubious. "Twenty-six years, that's a long time ago. So the last you remember, it was 2009?"

"Right."

"And you were partners with my mother."

"Right." I leaned forward. "I know it's a crazy story. Hell, if I heard a suspect saying it to me, I wouldn't buy it for a second. But I'm telling you, my last memory is from August of '09. I don't even remember my own kids."

Bobby took a slow sip of water. "And how does my mom play into all this?"

"I thought maybe she could help me remember."

"You haven't seen each other in a while," he said evenly. "By your choice, as I understand."

"I know, I've heard as much. But I can't make any sense of it. Your mother was the closest person in the world to me. I can't think of anything that could have happened to make me break off contact with her after ten years as partners."

"I suppose I could fill you in on some of the details."

My heart began to beat faster. "You know?"

"I know what Mom has told me, yes." He leaned forward, squinting his eyes in Eames-like fashion. "As I understand it, everything began around August of 2009, actually." I held my breath as he continued. "You and my mom were working on a case that involved four murdered schoolteachers."

"Three," I corrected him.

"Four," he repeated. "And after the fourth, Mom kind of lost it."

"I remember the case was bothering her. I didn't know why."

"Mom had done some research into the teachers' backgrounds, trying to find some common thread between them. They didn't teach at the same schools, they hadn't gone to the same colleges or taken common continuing education courses... The only concrete thing she could find was that the women had all been married at one point, but lost their husbands suddenly. And they were all lonely, widowed women."

I nodded in understanding. "So she saw herself in them."

"She did. And after she lost it, she went to a bar one night, and you met her there. And the two of you did tequila shots most of the night." He looked at me steadily. "And then afterwards, you went home with her."

"Ah."

"Which became somewhat of a pattern. Whenever you two worked on a particularly tough case, you'd get plastered afterwards and fall into bed together."

Suddenly, I had a flash of a memory. Eames, moving over me, panting, "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby." It was clear as day, and then it was gone. I shook my head in shock.

"And that continued for a while," he said. "Until one day, you two went to the bar, and you didn't want to drink anything. You just wanted to talk."

"About what?"

"As I understand it, you wanted my mother to marry you."

Eames in a white gown, gliding alongside me down the aisle. I imagined it so clearly, it almost felt like a memory. "And?"

"She wouldn't."

The image faded. "Why not?"

"Because of her first husband, I guess. She'd already been the wife of a policeman once, and didn't want to be put through that again. The worry, the fear. She said wouldn't be able to survive losing you, too. Not that she told _you _any of that, of course," he added wryly. "She just said she didn't want to marry you, and left it at that."

I blew out a long sigh. "Bet I was pissed."

He gave a tight smile. "That'd be an understatement."

I heard the echo of Eames' voice again in my head: _Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. _No wonder I'd changed it to Rob. "And we kept working together?"

"No, the next day you put in for a transfer. Went on a long-term undercover assignment; left your apartment, canceled your cell phone and email accounts, the whole nine yards. Mom had no way to reach you. And believe me, she tried."

"And then she married Josh Wilson," I said, trying not to sound as bitter as I felt. I'd had Eames, and let her slip away.

"She did."

"Was he good to her, at least? Was he a good father to you?"

Bobby shrugged one shoulder. "I wouldn't really know, really. He died in a car accident a month before my second birthday."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I assume he was good to us, though. Mom always speaks of him highly."

After all that self-preservation, Eames had lost another husband anyway. In spite of my jealousy, I felt a twinge of sympathy. She must have been devastated. "And so what happened then? She kept working at Major Case Squad?"

"No, she joined the FBI. Worked there for twenty-two years."

"And once I wasn't undercover anymore, did she and I see each other again?"

"Nope. She tried reaching out to you for years, but you never responded."

"I can be stubborn," I conceded. "Where is she now?"

"She lives on the Upper West Side. Not far from where I live. We sort of worked it out like that on purpose, in case she needed anything."

Eames was in Manhattan. I felt a rush of hope surge through me. "Do you think she would agree to see me?"

He paused, then shook his head. "I can't say. I think it was tough on her. I mean, she wrote you letters for ten years, and never heard back from you."

"I'm surprised she kept writing for that long," I admitted. "I would've thought she'd have given up on me earlier."

"It was important to her," Bobby said. "She really wanted you to know that you had a son."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Clearly won't finish in time. Oh, well. I tried._

* * *

We sat in silence, the three of us.

I had the Myriad box open on the couch beside me, while Alex and Donna sat on the love seat across from me. I'd been through the rest of the contents of the box while I'd waited for Alex to come home and for Donna to wake up.

They were more shell-shocked than me, somehow. Neither had come up with a single response to the news, and so, I waited. They were like twin pillars, side by side, elbows on their knees. Staring at the floor.

Finally, Donna: "And she's still alive? Eames?"

"She is, yes."

Then, more silence. I could hear the ticking of the large grandfather clock behind them, the faint hum of the central air conditioning kicking in. My heart pounded out an erratic rhythm deep in my chest.

"So when are you leaving?" Alex said at last.

"Leaving?"

"You just found out the long-lost love of your life is still alive, and that she had your child. A perfect son who grew up to follow in your footsteps and become a detective for the NYPD." He blew out a long breath. "So when–"

"I'm not leaving," I replied. "Why–"

"You don't even know us," he reminded me. "Donna and I are strangers to you, just like Bobby Junior. Alex Eames is the only one in this equation that you remember."

"But–"

"You used to tell us about your Catholic guilt. How even though you hadn't been to church in years, you still had all this baggage from your childhood." Alex looked at me keenly. "You expect us to believe you don't feel guilty about your kid growing up fatherless?"

"He didn't know," Donna said defensively. "He has nothing to feel guilty about."

I cocked my head slightly. "You're wrong, actually. I did know." Leaning over, I sifted through the Myriad box's contents, pulling out a large stack of letters from Eames. "You see these? Every single envelope has been opened already."

They were quiet for a moment, until Alex said reluctantly, "Not by you."

"What?"

"Look at them, Dad. Someone used a letter opener to open those envelopes."

I frowned in confusion just as Donna's eyes widened in comprehension. "So?"

"You've always been a letter-tearer," Donna supplied. "You dig your finger into a gap in the sealed envelope and rip it open. Mom used to complain about the way you'd mangle the mail. She always used letter openers to open hers."

I looked down at the pile. Every single letter had a clean, straight opening at the top of the envelope.

"Don't you get it?" Alex rubbed at his face. "Remember what Mom told Eames? _Two is better than one. _She knew. She was intercepting your mail."

"If she hid the letters, then why were they in my personal safe?"

"We opened her safe after she died," Donna supplied. "Alex and I were having a rough time going through the contents with you, so you volunteered to do it by yourself. The letters must have been in her box."

"So like I said, I _did _know."

"Maybe so, but you only found out recently. I mean, think about it, Dad – why else would you have saved last month's newspaper clipping about Bobby Eames-Wilson's commendation, but nothing about his graduation from the Academy?"

I neatened the pile of letters before settling them back into the box. "Okay, so we know I knew."

Alex nodded.

"And what does that tell you?" I asked.

The kids looked at each other blankly. "What?"

"I knew Bobby was my son. Now, I'll give you that the timing of when I found out is up for debate, but as of a month ago, I knew. And yet neither Bobby nor Eames heard from me. What does that tell you, Alex?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Think about it," I pressed.

He was silent for a full minute before he spoke. "It means you chose us."

"It means I chose you."

"That was then, Dad. That was when you'd known us our entire lives."

Donna made a quiet noise in the back of her throat. "I don't want you to settle for us," she said.

"It's not settling," I told her. "It couldn't be."

"Eames is–"

"Eames was," I interrupted Alex. "She _was_. I'm more concerned with what _is_, right now. And no, maybe I don't have memories of either of you. But I don't need a memory to know that when I'm with you and Donna, I feel like I'm home. Nothing could change that. And that's why I'm leaving it up to the two of you."

"Leaving what up to us?" Donna asked.

"My next move." I fingered the metal lid to the Myriad box. "You just say the word, and I'll close this box forever. I'll never talk to Alex Eames or our son again. I'll leave that part of my life behind, for good."

Alex gaped at me. "You'd do that?"

"You're my family. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you." I got to my feet, slowly. "I'll give you some time to think about it. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I'd like to know by then. I'd like to know how to start the next chapter of my life. But understand, whatever chapter you pick for me, you'll be the most important part of it."

I shuffled off into the kitchen as they watched me silently. Did the dishes, wiped down the counters.

Not a sound came from the other room.

Eventually I wandered upstairs, into my bedroom. The lime green walls startled me again, as I looked around the room. There were photos everywhere. Frames on the wall, the dresser, the nightstands. Family Christmas photos, with a toddler Alex grinning up from under an oversized Santa hat. My hand on Sandy's pregnant belly. Ski trips, beach trips. A snapshot of little Donna proudly riding a bicycle for the first time as I ran after her, a mixture of joy and terror on my face.

I'd forgotten a lifetime. Literally, I'd forgotten my children's entire _lifetime_ of memories. I didn't know their first words, or when they lost their front teeth, or how long they'd believed in the Easter Bunny. Tears prickled the backs of my eyes as I picked up a framed photo of the three of us; Donna on my shoulders and Alex wrapped in my bear hug.

There was no doubt in my mind; I'd chosen them over Eames.

Bobby had been polite to me as he left. _Maybe we'll hear from you_, he'd said.

Maybe.

I lay down on the bed, feeling the fatigue of the past day and nearly seventy-five years. My bones were tired. I felt myself dozing off, and when I heard footsteps on the stairs and opened my eyes, the room was dark. The door creaked open slowly.

"Dad?"

"I'm awake," I said, pulling myself into a sitting position as Donna switched on the light.

She and Alex glanced at each other, and he nodded. "We came to a decision," she said.

"Okay."

"When we were growing up," Alex said, "you always had us volunteering at the soup kitchen or homeless shelters on the weekends. You said it was important to always help those who were less fortunate than our family."

"And anyone who never had you for a father or husband is less fortunate than our family," Donna finished. "So let's help him. Let's help both of them."


	8. Chapter 8

Alex peeked into my room, huffing with exasperation when he saw me. "Dad!"

"Alex!" I mimicked, undoing my tie and starting again.

"We should have left twenty minutes ago. What are you doing?"

Over, under, around, twist... some things you never really forget. "I'm almost ready. Really."

He stepped into the room, watching. "You look fine."

"I don't want to look fine. I want to look _good_. I want everything to be perfect for her."

"I know." He smiled faintly. "Everything will be. No matter how you look. She'll still love you either way."

I gave up on the tie, as Alex's younger fingers took over for me. Instead I focused on my thinning, ever-whitening hair, and the wrinkles that seemed to grow deeper over the course of every day. "When did I get so old?" I asked him, not expecting a response.

"You're not old," he said. "You're _vintage_." Smirking at himself, he finished with the tie. It looked perfect.

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

He shrugged. "You taught me."

The clock chimed in the hall, and we hurried down the stairs together. I started to reach for my tie again, but a sharp look from him stopped me. Into the car. Out of the driveway. Onto the Major Deegan. My pulse beat a steady pulse of anticipation, of fear.

We made it there in twenty minutes. It helped that Alex seemed to have inherited my lead foot.

"You go ahead while I park," he said, idling the car outside. "It's more important for you to be on time."

I opened my mouth to correct him, then shut it abruptly when I saw Bobby outside, beckoning toward the car. _Late_, he mouthed, pointing to his watch. I obligingly unfolded myself from the passenger seat, straightening my back slowly as I made my way toward the front door. Bobby strode out to meet me halfway.

"Where've you guys been? She's in there going nuts."

"I'm here, aren't I?" I blew out a long breath, then shook my head in frustration. "I wish I could remember everything. If just for today."

Bobby's face softened. "You're here, Dad. That's all that matters."

We entered the church together, nodding at the guests milling about inside. Some of them I knew; most, I didn't. Or perhaps I did, once. These sort of events were a constant rehash of explanations and introductions. Exhausting. We watched the crowd for a few minutes, as my nerves settled.

"I've got to go do my thing," Bobby said at last. "You all right?"

"I'll be fine."

He nodded encouragingly, patting my arm and disappearing into the crowd. I caught sight of him after a moment as he offered his arm to a woman near the entrance. The picture of a perfect usher.

"Mr. Goren!"

I turned to see Reverend Michaels heading toward me. "Hey, Rev."

"Glad you made it," he said. "We're expecting to start in about fifteen minutes. She's been asking for you."

"I can go see her?"

"I'd recommend it," he said, his eyes twinkling. "She's a little wound up right now."

I nodded, buttoning my tuxedo jacket and following him down a side stairwell. Then down a long hallway, following the sound of a rapidly rising voice.

"Someone find out where he is! He should have been here by now!"

"I'm here," I said quickly, stepping into the room.

Donna's panicked face didn't relax. "Where have you been?" she nearly shrieked. "We've been waiting! Where–"

I sat beside her, taking her hand. "I'm sorry I was late. I'm here. I'm here."

She leaned forward, breathing in and out slowly. On the other side of her, Eames rubbed her back.

"You can't assume your dad's been in another accident whenever he's late," she reminded Donna gently. "Sometimes you have to allow some extra time to account for the fact that he still doesn't know how to tie a decent bow tie."

Donna managed a smile, her breaths coming more evenly. "I'm sorry. I'm just freaked out today."

"I know." I straightened her veil out behind her. "You look beautiful, kiddo. Perfect."

We double-teamed her, me and Eames, speaking to her in calm and soothing tones even as we made our way up to the chapel. Eames kissed her cheek before Bobby escorted her to the front of the church, while we waited in the back.

"This is why you have bridesmaids," I reminded Donna as we waited for the organist to break into our entrance music. "They keep you sane."

"I have you," she said, squeezing my forearm. "Do you think we'll be happy, Dad? Me and Nick?"

"I think you'll be ecstatic, honey."

"As happy as you and Eames?"

I noticed that she didn't mention her mother. Three years ago, it might have been a different story. But the kids had gotten used to Eames, even grown fond of her. The inevitable comparisons between her and Sandy hadn't lasted long. It was clear enough to them who my great love was.

"You'll be even happier."

The music swelled, and the two of us stepped forward obligingly. Left foot, then right, then left. I squeezed her arm tightly as we walked.

It had been three long years since my accident. No more memories had returned to me, and my doctors said the chances that they would at this point were slim at best. _Concentrate on the present_, they'd advised. _Move forward._

And so we did move forward, down the aisle; Donna smiling at people who I didn't recognize but doubtless knew once. Up ahead, I saw Alex sitting with Eames and Bobby. Our odd, makeshift family.

For a moment, I felt the old pangs of regret. I wondered what it was like to see Donna take her first steps, as she walked so effortlessly beside me now. I wondered what Alex's first word was, and what Bobby's life would have been like with a dad around.

As we drew closer to the front, though, I made myself remember:

The first time I saw Eames again. The way I instantly forgot everything I'd rehearsed, and simply stood dumbly, staring at the most beautiful old lady I'd ever seen. The way she fit into my arms again, and the way I never wanted to let go.

The weekend Alex and Bobby and I went fishing upstate. Driving up as strangers, all furtive glances and uncomfortable silences. Three long days on a fishing boat, learning about each other on the still water until we managed to leave as a father and his two sons.

The day Donna came home with a diamond ring sparkling upon her finger. The realization that she'd only be mine for a bit longer. The realization that I was able to set aside my heartbreak in favor of sharing her excitement with her.

And then there I was, standing with her before the altar, as her groom waited for her hand. It was too soon for me, but then, it always would be. I kissed her cheek, said my line, and joined my family in our front pew. Eames took my hand as I sat beside her.

"I'm proud of you," she said.

"I hope you know," I whispered, "I'm just going to keep asking until you say yes."

She just squeezed my hand in reply. The service sped by, and by the time it finished, I would have forgotten most of it. But the important parts, I'd remember always.

_The End_


End file.
